Zimburg pulled the lamp across the table, and through his glasses carefully scrutinized the features of the violinist. "Very strange," he muttered; "it is not often that I am puzzled. Offhand I should have said that I have never seen this face before, but the more I look at it, the more certain I am that the features are quite familiar to me. At the same time there is some subtle change which baffles me. It may be the eyes, or the nose and the mouth--that it is impossible to say. Anyway, I should be prepared to arrest this man on suspicion, and take the risk of finding out all about him afterwards."
"I suppose any slight alteration makes a difference in the photograph?" Jack asked. "After all said and done, photography is a very weak reed to lie upon. Can't you tell us exactly what is puzzling you?"
Zimburg threw up his hands with a suggestion of despair. A sudden light flashed across Jack's mind. He recollected that Padini, so far as the stage was concerned, appeared with a clean face, but in private life it had been his whim to adopt a moustache strictly on the lines of that worn by the German Emperor. It was apparently an insane thing to do, and savored more of conceit than of anything else, but no doubt the thing had its advantages.
"Do you happen to have such a thing as a paint-box and a brush on the premises?" Jack asked. "If so, I think I shall be in a position to jog Mr. Zimburg's memory."
As it happened, the necessary implements were there to hand. There were occasions, Bates explained, when such things were necessary. Now and then some sprig of the nobility who had dined not wisely but too well found himself in the cells in a more or less dilapidated condition, and here it was that the paint-box came in. Black eyes and discolored faces and that kind of thing, Bates explained. "I assure you that a dash or two of paint makes all the difference in the world."
Jack smiled as he bent over the photograph, and with a few subtle touches decorated the face with a fierce blond moustache. He handed the card over without comment to Zimburg. The little man's face fairly beamed with delight.
"Ah! but you are a clever gentleman," he cried. "Now I know our friend. Yes, yes, but he is a very clever man. And older than he looks, mind you; that fellow has eluded the Continental police for years. It would be absurd to try and give his real name, for probably he has forgotten it himself. Yes, I have heard of his playing before; not that I regarded him as quite good enough for a public platform. Wherever that man goes, roguery follows as a matter of course. Depend upon it, his appearance here means mischief. I will have him carefully watched, and before long I shall have the pleasure of laying him by the heels."
"Don't do that, at least until you are absolutely obliged to," Jack said eagerly. "We are interested, deeply interested, in the movements of Signor Padini. It is more or less of a private matter, but if you could provide us with some means of getting a hold on that fellow we should be exceedingly obliged to you."
Zimburg promised to do his best, and departed. For some little time Rigby and Bates stood discussing the most recent developments of the case, whilst Jack sat in a thoughtful attitude, evidently puzzling something out.
"Do you call Zimburg a really clever detective?" he asked at length. "It seems to me that he has a poor memory for faces. For instance, he had not the slightest idea who the man Padini was till that moustache was added to the face of the photograph."
Bates, eager in defense of his colleagues, remarked that a little thing like that often made a vast difference.
"That is one of the great advantages of the Bertillon system," he explained. "I don't care how clever a man may be--and when I speak of a clever man I mean a policeman in this instance--he is often utterly deceived by some slight physical change. Take the case of the late Charles Peace if you like. I understand that he could alter the expression and even the shape of his face entirely. Make your mind quite easy, for Zimburg will work it all out like some ingenious puzzle. I suppose you are aware of the fact that the London and Paris police have thousands of careful records made of the measurements of well-known criminals?"
"But Zimburg can't very well measure Padini," Rigby argued. "He can't make him drunk, or anything of that kind."
"No, but he can have him arrested on some faked-up charge," Bates laughed. "That little game has been played more than once when we wanted the measurements of some clever criminal who had never passed through our hands."
"That is very ingenious," Rigby said, "and I shan't forget it. If facts like those were more widely known, I fancy you would get more assistance from the Press."
Bates emphatically repudiated the suggestion.
"I have often heard you say, in fact it is rather a fruitful source of complaint to the police, that the newspapers do them more harm than good," Jack said reflectively; "but I think I can see a way whereby the Press could give you a good leg-up in the case of this Belgrave Gardens mystery. Dick, is it too late to get a paragraph inserted in to-morrow'sPlanet?"
"Oh, dear, no," Rigby explained. "Probably no paper in London goes to bed later than we do. We make it a point of keeping open till the last possible minute, and we have a good hour before us yet. But what are you driving at?"
"Well, it is this way. It is pretty clear that one of the thieves was wearing that embroidered scarf which was also claimed by Mrs. Montague. Probably there were two such mufflers, but that does not affect my argument. Of course, a description of this affair will appear in to-morrow'sPlanet,but I should like to embroider on it a bit. Suppose we add to the report a paragraph to the effect that the thief left a marvelous wrap behind him. We could say that it was absolutely unique, and all that sort of thing, just the sort of silly gossip that your readers are so fond of. We could hint that the scarf still remains at Belgrave Gardens for identification. Now it is a thousand to one this paragraph reaches the eye of the thief, or is brought to his notice. This being so, he will lose no opportunity of getting the wrap back again. All you have to do is to keep the house carefully under observation, and your man falls into your hands like a ripe blackberry. What does the inspector think of our little scheme?"
Bates pondered the matter a moment or two, and then cautiously remarked that at any rate there could be no harm in it. Whereupon the two friends went away together, and half-an-hour later a spicy paragraph had been constructed for the delectation of thePlanet'sreaders to-morrow. Rigby threw the paragraph aside, and whistled up-stairs to the composing room.
"You look as if you had something at the back of your mind," he said, passing the cigarettes across to his companion. "Jack, you have found something out?"
"Upon my word, I believe I have," Jack replied. "It is rather soothing to one's vanity to get on the inside track so far as a detective is concerned. But it would not have been at all fair on my part to have said anything to Bates, seeing that you are investigating this Nostalgo business on your own account. Not that I am absolutely certain of my facts now, but I shall be after I have seen Miss Helmsley in the morning. Now, is there anything else we can do to-night? I suppose even an indefatigable journalist like yourself goes to bed sometimes."
Anstruther was fortunately out when Jack called at Panton Square the next morning. He smiled to himself as he noticed a copy of thePlaneton the hall table. It had evidently been carefully read, and on page 5, where the account of the Belgrave Gardens burglary appeared, somebody had ticked the paragraph with a pencil. Miss Helmsley was in the drawing-room, the housemaid said, and would see Mr. Masefield if he would go up-stairs. Claire was looking a little pale and distracted, Jack thought; her eyes bore evidence of the fact that she had passed a restless night. But her face lighted up, and the old charm of feature reasserted itself as Jack entered.
"Come, come, this won't do," he said, half tenderly, half playfully. "Positively I shall have to kiss the color back to those pallid lips of yours. What is worrying you so much, dearest?"
"Nothing worries me so long as I am with you," the girl said, as she stood with Jack's arm about her. "And yet I almost wish that you had never told me what you did yesterday."
"You cannot wish it more than I do, sweetheart," Jack murmured; "but don't you see that it was almost necessary? There is some desperate rascality going on here, and your happiness could never have been an assured thing till we got to the bottom of it."
"But that is just what frightens me," Clare protested. "I cannot get out of my mind the recollection of what happened last night. I shall never listen to that music again without the feeling that some unknown danger is hovering about me. I am frightened, Jack, frightened to my very soul. And yet the whole thing can be explained; I am sure you can explain it yourself if you like?"
Jack replied that he hoped to do so in a few days. He assured Claire that there was nothing supernatural about the thing. For both their sakes he exhorted Claire to be brave. The red mouth grew hard and firm; there was a look of resolution in the girl's blue eyes.
"It shall be even as you say," she cried. "But tell me, has anything fresh happened since last night?"
"Nothing that is worth speaking of," Jack said, feeling a little ashamed of his evasion. "Did Anstruther go out again last night? By the way, he seldom wears an overcoat; at least, so I understood him to say. When he came in last evening, after the fire broke out, I noticed that he was not wearing an overcoat then. Where does he get those wonderful embroidered scarves from?"
"He has only one, so far as I know," Claire explained. "Originally there were three, but two were either lost or given away. Wonderful work, is it not?"
"Wonderful work, indeed," Jack agreed; "but he did not tell me where they came from."
"So far as I can understand they came from Mexico. The silk is really Chinese, of a quality which is made only for the imperial palace of Pekin. To steal this material is an offense punishable by death, but it is sometimes smuggled out of the town, and clever natives of Southern Mexico do the embroidery. But why are you so curious about this scarf?"
"Oh, I merely thought I should like to get one like it," Jack said carelessly. He had no intention of frightening Claire more than was absolutely necessary. "Couldn't you let me see it for a minute or two? I suppose you know where it is kept?"
Claire knew perfectly well where to lay her hands upon the scarf. Anstruther was a methodical man, and hated to have his things lying about. He only used the scarf at such times as he was in evening dress. Claire went off, and Jack was by no means surprised that he had to wait a quarter of an hour. When Claire returned her hands were empty; there was a puzzled frown between her usually smooth white brows.
"A most extraordinary thing," she said . "I cannot find the scarf anywhere. It is quite certain that Mr. Anstruther is not wearing it; I thought perhaps he had thrown it carelessly down last night in the excitement of the moment, and therefore I asked Serena if she had seen anything of it. But she declared that she knew nothing, and yet at the same time she seemed to be extraordinarily upset and agitated by my simple question. She is not an emotional woman, as you know; therefore her conduct is all the more amazing. But the fact remains that this scarf cannot be found, and so I cannot oblige you. I will ask Mr. Anstruther if you like----"
But Jack emphatically wanted nothing of the kind. He was in a hurry now, he said, and would call again later in the day. He made his way directly to thePlanetoffice, where he found that Rigby had just arrived.
"No, there are no fresh developments," he explained. "Did you take my advice last night, and have the house in Belgrave Gardens watched by a private detective in addition to the policeman engaged by Bates?"
"Of course I did," Rigby replied. "As a matter of fact I have two men at work there; one to relieve the other, and report progress from time to time. In fact, one of them has only just come in. He has very little to say, but that little was an eye-opener. I have ascertained that Anstruther is not even acquainted with Lord Longworth, and yet one of the first men to call in Belgrave Gardens this morning was Spencer Anstruther. Now, do you think he had anything to do with last night's business; otherwise what do you suppose he called for?"
"That is exactly what I am here to tell you," Jack said. "The scarf which formed so important a clue belonged to Anstruther. It is missing from his house; in fact, I called there this morning on purpose to examine the thing. We have hit the right nail on the head this time--the lost property in the hands of Inspector Bates is beyond a doubt the cherished possession of Spencer Anstruther."
It was a most important discovery that Jack had made, and Rigby did not fail to see what developments it was likely to lead to. If what Masefield had said was true--and Rigby saw no reason to doubt it--here they had Anstruther directly connected with crime.
"Do you really think that our friend actually engineered that business at Lord Longworth's?" Rigby asked.
"I can come to no other conclusion," Jack replied. "You must understand that Anstruther is a kind of a specialist in crime; he has frequently been consulted by the police, and, I believe, has brought off some wonderful results. He has even written a book on the subject. Now, we know Anstruther to be an unscrupulous rascal. The police looked upon him as a brilliant aid to themselves. If a man like this chooses to play the part of a criminal Dupuin, see what marvelous opportunities he has. He knows everything about the movements of the police; he can anticipate all their schemes. It is as if Bates himself had turned burglar. Whatever Mrs. Montague might say, it is pretty certain that the embroidered scarf belongs to Anstruther. Quite inadvertently he left it at Lord Longworth's last night, where he was passing in the crowd as an invited guest."
"I know that sort of thing is done," Rigby said. "A very impudent example came under my notice the other day. The thing is much easier done than one would imagine."
"Do you mean to say," Jack asked, "that it is possible for a gentlemanly scoundrel to walk into the house of some great society lady giving a reception, and not be spotted immediately for what he is? It seems absurd!"
"Not a bit of it!" Rigby replied. "To the audacious everything is possible. Supposing a duchess is giving a reception. She has asked perhaps a thousand guests. Half-way through the evening she is so tired and worn out that she does not know or care to whom she may be speaking. Here is the chance for the gentlemanly swindler we are talking about. Of course he is perfectly dressed; he has the most exquisite manners. He lounges up to his hostess, and, after the usual greetings, makes some confidential remark about some friend of the family, which immediately stamps him as one of a certain set. All he has got to do now is to saunter along as if the whole place belonged to him, and help himself to such costly trifles as his mind inclines to."
"Did you ever know of a case in point?" Jack asked.
"My dear chap, I not only know of a case, but I was more or less party to it. It was done for a bet, and I was one of the losers. It was so easily managed that I should not in the least mind trying it myself."
"Well, it seems very odd to me," Jack murmured. "Still, if you know it has been done, there is an end of it."
"Well, it has been shown pretty conclusively," said Rigby, "that Anstruther must have been there last night."
"Quite so," Jack went on. "At any rate the scarf was left behind. I recognized it as soon as ever I saw it in Bates's hand; therefore I was absolutely sure that Anstruther had been at the reception. That is why I suggested that paragraph in thePlanet. It is just the sort of silly gossip that papers publish after a sensational crime, and is calculated to hamper the police more than help them. I felt quite sure that somebody or other would bring that paragraph to Anstruther's notice, and that he would lose no time in trying to recover the scarf. I dare say there are other scarves like it in existence, but they are not so common that Anstruther could afford to take any risk. That he realized the gravity of the situation is proved by the fact that he has lost no time in calling at Lord Longworth's to recover the missing property. I think I have made my case very clear."
"Nothing could be clearer," Rigby replied. "Anstruther is at the bottom of this business. I should say he is the cleverest rascal in London at the present moment. And mark the cunning of the beast. Don't you see how easy he can prove an alibi? If he were met face to face now, and taxed with the fact that he was at Lord Longworth's last night he would politely deny it, and, if pressed, have not the slightest difficulty of demonstrating that he was elsewhere."
"But I don't quite see," Jack interrupted, "exactly how that----"
"Clear as mud," Rigby said. "Why he has only got to call his servants and Miss Helmsley to prove that he was in the study all the evening playing his violin."
"How stupid of me," Jack muttered. "The full beauty of that little scheme had been lost on me. There is a good deal we have to learn yet. But I can't stay talking to you any longer this morning, as I promised Claire that I would go and see Lady Barmouth. I have told Claire nearly everything there is to learn, and she is quite willing to be a friend of Lady Barmouth's and share her troubles. I will see you later on in the day."
Jack went off in the direction of Lord Barmouth's house. He had some little hesitation in calling so early in the day, but then the matter was imperative, and he knew that Lady Barmouth would be glad to hear Claire's decision. The lady in question was sitting in her boudoir, accompanied by two secretaries, who appeared to be tremendously busy with a long visiting list and some exquisitely-designed cards of invitation to a masked ball. But Lady Barmouth, heedless of Jack's apologies, declared that she had always time to spare for him.
"It is not I who am so busy," she said ; "in fact, this is merely mechanical work. I am giving my great party of the season, and now that I have made out the list of intended guests, the rest is merely mechanical."
So saying, Lady Barmouth led the way into an inner drawing-room, the door of which she carefully closed.
"You have some news for me," she cried eagerly. "I am quite sure you have come straight to me from Miss Helmsley."
"That is the fact," Jack said gravely. "Rather against my better judgment, I have told Claire everything. She knows now the class of man her guardian is; she knows that she will have to be terribly careful lest he should suspect. But Claire has a courage and determination which came quite as a surprise to me. I think the secret will be safe in her hands."
"Yes! yes!" Lady Barmouth cried; "but what about me?"
"I was coming to that. It seems to be a case of mutual sympathy between you. As a matter of fact it seems to me that Claire likes you as well as you like her. Anyway, she is going to see you this afternoon, when you can talk matters over without reserve. But tell me, does Lord Barmouth take any kind of interest in these festivities of yours?"
"He is goodness and kindness itself," Lady Barmouth said warmly. "He has always insisted that his misfortunes should not interfere with my personal enjoyment. At a dinner, or a reception, or an ordinary dance, my husband never shows himself. Despite his terrible misfortunes he thoroughly enjoys his amusements; he likes to mingle with people, seeing everything, and not being seen himself. That is why I give so many of these masked balls. This is going to be an extra smart affair, and I am asking my lady friends to wear as many jewels as possible."
"Claire told me something about it," Jack said. "I gathered that she is to be one of the invited guests."
"I am asking both Miss Helmsley and Mr. Anstruther," Lady Barmouth explained. "There is some danger in asking the latter, but one has to take these risks."
Jack murmured something that sounded sympathetic. Had Lady Barmouth only known it, the risk was far greater than she imagined. If Jack's suspicions were correct that Anstruther was mixed up with a gang of expert thieves, here then was a golden opportunity. The mere fact of it being a masked ball simply added to his opportunities. So deeply did Jack ponder over this, that it was some little time before he grasped the fact that Lady Barmouth was still giving him details of the forthcoming function.
"I am asking a lot of most prominent actresses," she said , "together with a number of leading musicians, and they are getting up a kind of morris dance. Of course, the music will be supplied by a small band of famous artists, and I am getting this new man Padini to be present."
Here was more news with a vengeance. But there was nothing to be gained by telling Lady Barmouth what had been elicited with regard to Padini.
"I presume I shall be honored with an invitation," Jack suggested. "I see from the expression of your face that I am to be a guest. Might I beg the favor of a card for a friend of mine?"
"More mysteries!" Lady Barmouth laughed. "Oh, you need not tell me unless it is absolutely necessary. You shall take the card away with you if you like, and deliver it to your friend personally."
Jack was seeing his way pretty clearly by this time. He was anticipating more than one important discovery during the progress of the masked dance. The card he had begged was, of course, for Rigby, and it would go hard if between them they did not discover something of importance.
"Now, I am going to speak to you on a more or less painful topic," Jack said gravely. "And I am going to ask you to be exceedingly candid with me. I want you to tell me what is the exact connection between Lord Barmouth and the Nostalgo posters which are so prominent in London at present."
The jeweled pen with which Lady Barmouth had been scribbling on the two invitation cards fell from her fingers on to the blotting pad. There were trouble and unhappiness in her eyes, her face had turned deadly pale; it was some little time before she spoke.
"Must I really tell you that?" she almost pleaded. "You are striking directly at the root of the unhappiness which poisons this house. It is not as if you really knew anything----"
"But indeed I know more than you give me credit for," Jack urged. "It was of no seeking of mine; it was not the result of any vulgar curiosity; but last night when your husband was here I caught one glimpse of his face in the light of the log fire. And there I saw at once that I was face to face with Nostalgo. Believe me, it is with the greatest possible regret that I have to speak like this, but I am near to the heart of the mystery, and if you are plain and frank with me I am sanguine enough to believe that I can remove your unhappiness altogether."
"But the secret is not my own," Lady Barmouth faltered.
"Then let us assume that I have wrested it from you," Jack murmured. "It is no fault of yours that I know so much. It is no fault of yours that you are in some way under an obligation to somebody--an obligation which compelled you to be in Montrose Place last night. Luckily for us you kept your appointment. But there was somebody else also keeping an appointment in the courtyard. Whether he came there dragged by the force of circumstances, or whether he came to watch, matters little. But as he paused to light a cigarette and the pallid blue of the flame shone on his face I recognized--Lord Barmouth."
The listener said nothing; she merely bowed her head over the blotting pad before her.
"Ah! I feel the circumstances are too strong for me," she said . "It is as if you were pushing me over the edge of a precipice. I cannot decide this matter on my own initiative."
"That is exactly the line I hoped you would take," Jack cried eagerly. "After his interview with us last night, Lord Barmouth must be perfectly sure of the fact that Rigby and myself are actuated by the kindest motives towards him. Go and see him now, tell him all that I have said to you, and ask him if he will be good enough to grant me a ten minutes' private conversation. I am sure he will do this; indeed, if he refuses, there are others interested in the matter who may cause him to say in public what he declines to admit in private."
"I will do as you suggest," Lady Barmouth replied, "though I fear you will be met with a refusal as firm as it is courteous. If you will excuse me for a moment----"
Lady Barmouth said no more, but turned hurriedly and left the room. That she was very deeply moved Jack could see for himself. She came back presently, with a wan, white ghost of a smile on her lips, and a remark to the effect that Lord Barmouth was not prepared to accede to Jack's request offhand, but that he would give it his earnest consideration, and send his decision in the course of a quarter of an hour.
"It is exceedingly awkward for me," Jack said; "you can see how delicate the ground is I stand upon. But believe me I am only being cruel to be kind. I am sure that when I have finished my interview with Lord Barmouth he will be exceedingly glad that he has consented to see me."
"Oh, I quite understand your feelings," Lady Barmouth exclaimed. "It must be dreadful for a gentleman to appear obtruding like this. But are you quite sure that the figure you saw in the courtyard at Montrose Place last night was my husband? You seem to have forgotten the other Nostalgo who was supposed to have been found dead by yourself in Panton Square the other night."
Jack admitted readily enough that there were many sides to the mystery as yet unsolved. He was still discussing the point, when the footman entered, and gravely announced that Lord Barmouth was waiting to see Mr. Masefield. Lady Barmouth rose to her feet at once, and escorted Jack to a small room at the end of the corridor. The apartment was in complete darkness; it was just possible to discern the outline of a figure in an armchair.
"I am pleased to see you, Mr. Masefield. I think you will find an armchair on the other side of the fireplace. My dear, I shall be pleased if you will leave Mr. Masefield and myself alone together."
Jack sat there silently enough, waiting for Lord Barmouth to speak. The difficulty and delicacy of the situation were by no means lost upon him. He shuffled about uneasily in his chair, trying to make something definite out of the still figure opposite him.
"I quite appreciate your feelings," Lord Barmouth said, in the deep, thrilling tones that Jack remembered so well. "It is no nice thing for a gentleman to thrust himself into the private sorrows of an unfortunate man like myself. But my wife has told me all that you have been recently saying to her. You seem to be under the impression that you saw me in Montrose Place last night; in fact, that you recognized my face, which I imprudently disclosed whilst I was lighting a cigarette. Mr. Masefield, I am not disposed to deny the accusation."
"I hope you will be perfectly candid with me," Jack said, speaking with some hesitation; "believe me, I am actuated by the highest motives; believe me, I would do anything to rid you of the shadow that darkens your life. Of course, I have my theory on the subject of the strange business; a business which has been literally thrust upon me by stress of circumstances. Up to a short time ago, like most people, I looked upon the Nostalgo poster as a high ingenuity in the way of advertising art. It was a wonderful effort, and most cleverly executed. But I should not have been in the least surprised to find that Nostalgo was an acrobat or a juggler, or even some new and clever way of introducing a fresh kind of soap to the credulous British public."
"Yes," Barmouth said thoughtfully, "I suppose one would have been satisfied in that way."
"But I speak with the discovery that I was mistaken," Jack went on. "The first thing that aroused my suspicions was more a girlish fancy than anything else. Of course you know Mr. Spencer Anstruther very well by name?"
"Ay, I know him by something more than name," Barmouth said, in deep, thrilling tones. "If that scoundrel had never been born I should--but I am interrupting you. Pray proceed."
"Well, to revert to what I was saying," Jack went on, "that Nostalgo poster was hardly fully impressed upon my mind's eye, before I began to notice some grotesque resemblance between it and Spencer Anstruther. Without hurting your feelings, the poster is devilishly hideous; Anstruther, on the other hand, is a singularly handsome man. But, despite all this, despite my common sense, I could not rid myself of the idea that the likeness was somewhere.
"A chance remark of mine served to confirm my impression. It threw Anstruther into a sudden fit of passion. His face was literally convulsed with fury, but only for an instant. Still, that instant sufficed. There was Nostalgo in the flesh before me--the same drawn-up lips, the same hideous squint of the oblique eyes, the same dreadful, hawkish look about the nose. A second later the likeness was gone. I cannot forget, I never shall forget my feelings at that moment. If I fail to interest you----"
"You are interesting me more than words can tell," Barmouth said hoarsely. "Pray proceed."
"There is not much more to tell," Jack said. "Perhaps you have heard of the Nostalgo devil whom I found dead the other night in Panton Square? I mean the man whose body so mysteriously vanished from the Shannon Street station?"
"Yes, I heard of that," Barmouth admitted; "but you will not be in the least astonished to learn that the whole affair was no surprise to me. All the same, I think you will find later on that the supposed victim is not dead at all. And now I am going to speak, and you are going to listen."
Jack intimated that he desired nothing better. He could make out the outline of the figure opposite him, wriggling and twisting in his chair.
"As you are quite aware, a little more than two years ago I went to Mexico. There was no thought of evil in my mind; I went out merely with an eye to sport. I have been fond of adventure all my life, and Mexico seemed to afford a fine field for such amusements as I was looking for. But the shooting was a great disappointment, and I had to turn elsewhere for recreation. A little later on I found myself in Southern Mexico, living with a half-savage tribe, who showed signs that at some long-forgotten period the same tribe had enjoyed a high state of civilization. As a matter of fact, there were two of these tribes living only a few leagues apart, and both exceedingly antagonistic to each other.
"Of course I had to throw my lot in with one section, and take care that I didn't fall into the hands of the other. The reason of this bitterness I discovered arose from the fact that both claimed possession of a belt of land which was supposed to contain gold. Now, I am an exceedingly rich man, as you know. But I got the gold fever as badly as if I had been the neediest adventurer who ever wielded pick and shovel.
"I had been told by my friends that the leader of the other section was an Englishman like myself. He was supposed to have married one of the women of the tribe, and adopted their manners and customs. Of course, I needed no one to tell me that only such a powerful incentive as gold could have persuaded an educated Englishman to remain permanently with a tribe. This other section was far the more powerful of the two, and they gave us fair warning that any of us that were caught in the gold belt would be likely to suffer for it. This was quite good enough for me. Picking out a score of the most daring adventurers, we made up our minds to put in some exploring without delay. I may mention the fact that some of these adventurers were Europeans also. Anyway, we set out one evening, and morning found us lighting our camp-fire right in the heart of the gold belt.
"On that occasion I had been left behind to look after the cooking whilst the others pushed on to a likely spot where indications of the precious metal might be found. My companions had hardly disappeared from sight before a man came riding up to me and demanded my business. It was quite easy to see that he was an Englishman, despite the fact that he was arrayed in the full war paint of the tribe. He was a fine, powerful man, and his face denoted great intellectual gifts. Come, Mr. Masefield, you are a clever man yourself, and therefore will have no difficulty in guessing who the stranger was."
"Anstruther for a hundred," Masefield cried.
"You have guessed it exactly, as I thought you would," Lord Barmouth went on gravely. "It was Anstruther, and no other. He wasted no time in demanding to know what I was doing there. He warned me of the dreadful pains and penalties likely to occur if I remained where I was, but I laughed him to scorn. By way of reply he gave a shrill whistle, and there emerged from the scrubby brush a small misshapen man with the most hideous face that it has ever been my lot to look upon. Need I describe that face, Mr. Masefield?"
"No," Jack said, in an awed voice. "It was another Nostalgo."
"Once more you have guessed it," Barmouth went on in the same grave way. "Anstruther pointed to the shrinking figure by his side, and told me that I must either go back at once, or that I must suffer the same fate as the man by his side. My blood was hot then; I cared for no man. I do not exactly know how it commenced, but presently we were exchanging revolver shots, each determined to do for the other. I suppose somebody crept up behind me, for I was just conscious of a terrible blow on the back of the head, and then I remembered no more.
"When I came to myself I was lying in a deserted hut, absolutely alone, and with a feeling upon me that I had just recovered from a long and painful illness. There was food beside me, a little native spirit in a bottle; my clothes were neatly laid at the foot of my bed. When I reached the open I recognized the fact that I was in a spot some fifty miles on the far side of the gold belt. From the length of my beard I calculated that I must have been lying there for some three weeks. My horse I found outside, and, feeling strong enough to proceed on my journey, I rode off in the direction of the tribe to which I was attached. I was feeling fairly well, and conscious only of a strange tightening sensation in the muscles of the face.
"At that moment I had no conception of the awful misfortune which had overtaken me. I was glad enough at length to come in contact with one or two members of my tribe. Judge of my astonishment when they fled as if in terror at my approach. It was the same in the village. I might have been afflicted with some loathsome disease, seeing how everybody ran at my approach. I reached my hut at length, tired, and hot, and angry, my first idea being to shave and make myself respectable. A glance at my looking-glass revealed the whole hideous truth. I was as I am at this moment: a ghastly caricature of a man, who dared not look his fellow creatures in the face."
It was some time before Lord Barmouth spoke again. It was not for Jack to interrupt the tenor of his painful thoughts. But the silence was so long that he felt bound to speak at length.
"But how does this give Anstruther such a hold on you?" he asked.
"That is another matter entirely," Barmouth explained, "though, of course, it touches on the main issue. You see, that though Anstruther knows me as the James Smith I used to be called in Mexico, he has not the remotest idea that I am Lord Barmouth. In fact, that man blackmails me."
"I don't quite follow," Jack said.
"I admit it sounds a little complicated," Barmouth went on. "Asmy real self Anstruther does not know me. Why should he interest himself in an apparently broken-down hypochondriac? The man he cares about is 'James Smith,' the Nostalgo whom he regards as a relative of my wife, and who lives here in some secluded part of the house. Heaven only knows if he is really aware of the truth, for he is so clever a scoundrel that he is quite capable of deceiving me on that point till the time is ripe to expose me and degrade me despite the sums of money I have paid him. I do not know, I dare not ask. Call me a coward if you like, but if you had gone through what I have----"
Barmouth paused, and wiped the moisture from his forehead.
"If I were not Lord Barmouth," he continued, "I would care little or nothing for what he says; but for the sake of my wife I have to submit to his persecutions. Therefore it is that at certain seasons of the year I meet Anstruther in Montrose Place and hand him over a thousand pounds. But there is one drawback to Anstruther's mastery of the situation. There are other men who were as vilely treated as myself, and some day Anstruther will fall by the hand of one of them.
"If you ask me why those hideous posters have been lately dotted about London, I can't tell you; I feel quite sure that they are some ingenious design of Anstruther's. I feel quite sure also that that Nostalgo you picked up the other night was here after Anstruther's blood, and that he died at Anstruther's instigation. My only consolation is the fact that my wife absolutely refused to break off her engagement on the strength of my terrible disfigurement. It was a long time before I yielded, but yield I did at length. And now that you know so much, perhaps you will be so good as to draw up the blinds, and let us talk face to face; that is, of course, if you do not object to----"
Jack hastily disclaimed any objection. He drew the blinds aside, and a flood of light poured into the room. It was a little difficult to repress a shudder at first, but he found himself presently talking to Barmouth as if his face had been like those of other men.
"You will find some cigarettes; this is my own room," Barmouth explained. "I furnished it more with an eye to comfort than anything else."
But Jack was not listening. He took up a cigarette mechanically, and was gazing intently at a photograph in a large silver frame standing on the mantelpiece. It was the face of a woman; a dark melancholy face, with mournful eyes.
"Would you mind telling me who that is?" Jack asked.
"A sister of my wife's," Barmouth explained. "It is rather a sad story."
Jack said nothing. But the face looking into his own was the face of Anstruther's servant, Serena.
It was perhaps fortunate for Jack that Lord Barmouth appeared to be engrossed in his own painful thoughts. At any rate he did not seem to notice that his youthful visitor's gaze was fixed so intently upon the photograph. So far as Jack could see, the picture had been taken some years before, and had not that wild, defiant, yet half-sad expression which marked Serena to-day. There was not much time to think, but Jack rapidly made up his mind. He would say nothing to Barmouth of his discovery, but would open up the matter as delicately as possible with Lady Barmouth. It was not a nice thing for a comparative stranger to intrude upon sacred griefs like this, but the discovery was so likely to lead to important results that it would have been folly to hesitate. It was some considerable time later before Jack left Lord Barmouth, who shook him warmly by the hand, and implored him to come again.
"You can imagine what a lonely life mine is," Barmouth murmured; "my wife is devotion itself, but one longs for the company of a man sometimes."
Jack promised sincerely enough that he would come again and often. He had taken a great liking to the lonely man who bore his cruel misfortunes so well. He had not intended at present to worry Lady Barmouth with the recent discovery, but she happened to be crossing the hall, and looked upon Jack eagerly and curiously.
Jack was about to say something to Lady Barmouth, when some one called her, and she turned away. Evidently she had no intention to allow Masefield to leave the house without satisfying herself as to the result of his interview with Lord Barmouth. With this feeling upon him, Jack lingered in the hall. He suddenly recollected that he had left his gloves behind him, and returned for them. He found Barmouth standing before the fireplace, apparently lost in thought. Jack had to speak twice before his host realized the fact that he was no longer alone.
"I came back for my gloves," Jack explained. "I left them on the little table behind there. I am sorry to intrude upon you again, but since you have been so kind to me----"
"On the contrary, it is you who have been so kind to me," Barmouth said. "I am not sorry you came back, because I have been thinking over the interview which we have just concluded. I might have told you a great deal more than I did; indeed, I was perhaps unwise to be so reticent. If you will come and see me again----"
"I will come and see you as often as I can get an opportunity," Jack said warmly. "Apart from the gratification of my vulgar curiosity, I have been wonderfully entertained by your experiences. I saw Lady Barmouth in the hall just now, and I know that she is anxious to learn how we got on together."
Jack went out again, with a feeling that he was more and more drawn towards his unfortunate host. He lingered in the hall for a moment gazing at the fine pictures and the artistic arranging of the flowers, hoping that Lady Barmouth would return. He had not long to wait, for presently she came floating down the stairs again. There was a pleased smile on her face.
"Oh, I am so glad you stayed so long," she said . "My poor George must have enjoyed your society or he would not have detained you. I am sure you got on very well together."
"We got on very well indeed together," Jack explained. "I have now a pretty shrewd idea of this Nostalgo business. During my interview with your husband I made a still more stupendous discovery."
"Something that affects my husband's case?" Lady Barmouth asked eagerly.
"I think it touches it very deeply indeed," Jack said gravely. "May I intrude upon you for another five minutes? Mind you, I have said nothing of this to Lord Barmouth, because it seems to me to concern you alone."
Lady Barmouth led the way back to the small drawing-room again. Her eyes were fairly dancing with curiosity. "It is about your sister," Jack said--"the sister whose photograph stands on the mantelpiece in your husband's room."
"Oh, must we really go into that?" Lady Barmouth asked, with a shade of coldness in her voice. "There are matters so sacred that even the most sincere friend----"
"Believe me, I am speaking under the strongest sense of duty," Jack urged. "Nothing else would induce me to speak. Lord Barmouth told me it was a very painful subject, but we must go into it."
"It is a painful subject," Lady Barmouth murmured. "She was my youngest sister, and very dear to us all. I do not say she had no faults; indeed, she had far too many. But she was very lovable in spite of her headstrong ways and her quick fits of passion. She never got on particularly well with my father, who all the same cared for her very much indeed. She was sent at the age of seventeen from Southern Mexico, where we lived at that time, to finish her education in London. I don't know why, but it seemed to be assumed that she was the daughter of very rich parents, and that in the course of time she would inherit a great deal of money. Be that as it may, she contrived to fall head over heels in love with her music-master, and they ran away together and got married. We never quite knew the name of the man; however, it was something quite foreign, and, judging from what happened afterwards, probably was no more than an alias. My sister's letter to her father announcing her marriage was returned to her unread, and she was given to understand that she could no longer consider herself one of the family. That sorry scoundrel who had brought so much unhappiness on the poor girl's head basely deserted her, and from that day to this I have seen nothing of the poor child.
"She did not write to you, she did not communicate with you in any way?" Jack asked.
"I have just told you that I have never heard of or seen the poor girl since. She was as proud as she was high-spirited, and after what had happened would have died rather than have appealed to any of us for assistance. But why do you ask?"
"Because I recognized in the portrait in question the features of one who I see nearly every day of my life. There can be no question about the matter at all, Lady Barmouth--your sister has been for a long time Spencer Anstruther's housekeeper."
"You astonish me; you move me more than words can tell. My sister in the house of that man? Do you mean to suggest for a moment----"
"I am not suggesting anything whatever that is wrong," Jack said earnestly. "For some time past I have been trying to make a study of the poor woman who calls herself Serena----"
"That is my sister's second name," Lady Barmouth interposed.
"Yes! But I have not made much progress. It is quite evident to me that your poor sister has had a terribly stormy past. Not that her spirits are broken, for there comes ever and again in her face the look of one who is prepared to fight to the bitter end. All the same, she is absolutely under the domination of Spencer Anstruther; she watches his every movement; indeed, it is almost as if he had hypnotized her. But that there is anything wrong--oh, no, Anstruther simply regards your sister as one of his creatures."
"I am quite unnerved by all you have to tell me," Lady Barmouth cried. "It has always been my prayer that my poor sister and myself should meet again, because I, for one, have never blamed her for that which, after all, is more her misfortune than her fault. She was very young at the time that she gave her heart into the keeping of that scoundrel, very young and very romantic. And goodness knows she paid enough for her folly. I must see her at once. I will go with you----"
"Not to Anstruther's house," Jack protested. "Think of the danger of it."
"But Mr. Anstruther merely knows me as Lady Barmouth. He knows nothing of Lord Barmouth as Lord Barmouth. We can easily assume that I came to ask the character of a servant. Oh, do not let us wait! If you only knew how anxious I am to see Serena again!"
Jack shrugged his shoulders and allowed the point to pass. At any rate he suggested that Lady Barmouth should possess her soul in patience a little longer. Usually the hours between five and seven were spent by Anstruther at his club, where he often indulged in a rubber of whist; indeed, he was very regular in this respect. Jack expounded all this to Lady Barmouth, who listened to him with more or less impatience.
"Let it be as you please," she said . "I am afraid you do not quite understand my feelings; still, you have been so good and kind and patient all through this miserable business that I am loth to do anything to mar your chances of success. Come and have a cup of tea with me, and then it will be time to start."
It was a little after six before Jack and Lady Barmouth set out in the direction of Panton Square. They came to the house at length, and Jack rang the bell. Some little time elapsed before there was any response, and Jack rang again. He was getting slightly uneasy by this time; so many things had happened lately that therefore it was possible that something equally strange might have recently been enacted in Panton Square. He pulled the bell again, this time furiously.
"It looks as if everybody was out," Lady Barmouth suggested.
"And yet I fancy I can hear somebody," Jack said, with his eye on the keyhole. "I am sure that I saw somebody flit across the hall. Let us try again."
Another furious peal at the bell brought a halting footstep, as if dragged unwillingly in the direction of the door, and then a voice inside faintly demanded to know who was there.
"Who are you?" Jack asked--his fears had rendered him a little impatient, "and what have you to be afraid of? Please open the door. I tell you that----"
"Is that really you, Jack?" the voice inside said in tones of deep relief. It was easy to detect that Claire was the speaker now. "I will open the door for you at once."
There was a fumbling at the bolts and latch, and then the heavy portal swung back. Claire's face was very pale, her hands were trembling, and there was something like terror in her eyes.
"I hope nothing wrong has happened?" Jack said anxiously.
"Well, no," Claire explained, "nothing what you might call really wrong." All the same, she was holding her hand to her heart like one who has run fast and far. "It was not on my account that I feared; it was for Serena's sake."
"Are you and Serena alone in the house?" Jack asked.
"Absolutely. The other two maids have gone out for the day, and, as my uncle is dining at his club, I did not bother about a set dinner, and was going to have a small dish sent up for myself. A few minutes ago Serena came to me in a state of terrible agitation, saying that somebody had called to see my guardian. Though he was assured that Mr. Anstruther was out, and was not likely to return before it was time to dress for dinner, the man persisted in refusing to believe the statement. He pushed his way into the hall, and locked the door behind him, saying that it was his intention to search the house. He was so rude and overbearing that Serena was naturally frightened, and came to me. I hope you won't blame me unduly, but I was as frightened as Serena herself. I summoned up courage at length to face this man, but when I reached the hall I found that he had unlocked the door again, and had vanished. But not before he had been all over the house."
"Was he rude, or did he use anything like violence?" Jack asked heatedly. "Oh, this sort of thing is abominable. Ask Serena to come here, and give me a description of the fellow. Then I will go off at once, and place the matter in the hands of the police."
So agitated and upset was Claire that she had entirely overlooked the presence of Lady Barmouth, who stood in the dim shadow of the hall listening to this amazing story. She went off now in the direction of the kitchen, where she seemed to be engaged in persuading the terrified Serena to come forward. The latter came presently, with a trembling, halting footstep, and Lady Barmouth shrank closer against the wall. The electric light had not been switched on yet, so that it was almost too dark to recognize the features of Anstruther's housekeeper. Jack rather wondered to see Serena so terribly upset. Broken as she was by misfortune, and dominated as she was by Anstruther's strong personality, she did not lack pluck and spirit, as Jack had seen on more than one occasion.
"You seem to have been subjected to a rather unpleasant experience," he said. "What class of man was the fellow who insisted on pushing his way into the house like this? A half-intoxicated workman, or some loafing rascal."
"Oh, nothing of the kind," Serena replied. She was getting her voice well under control now. "The man was dressed as well as yourself, Mr. Masefield. It was not his appearance that frightened me in the least, at least not his outward appearance. Nor was he in the least abusive or violent."
"But tell us what he looked like," Jack said impatiently. "I want a description for the benefit of the police."
Serena seemed to hesitate for a moment, and a curious expression passed like a shadow over her worn, sad face.
"Oh, you will not laugh at me, you will not make fun of what I am going to say? It was not quite dark; in fact, there was plenty of light when I opened the door for that man. His hat was turned down, and his coat collar was turned up. As the door was thrown open, he lifted his hat to me with a natural courtesy that belongs to every well-bred man. And then I saw his face. It was exactly the same face as that."
Serena broke off suddenly, as if her emotions were too strong for her. The front door had not yet been closed; the strong flare of a great arc light lit up the hoarding on the far side of the street. With a trembling hand Serena pointed to the central poster on the hoarding. Jack started as he followed the direction of her shaking finger.
"What!" he cried; "Nostalgo! Another Nostalgo! Do you mean to say that he has been here to-night?"
"Yes," Serena said simply, "it is just as I have told you."